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BOBBY" 

A New York Robin 

The Love Story 
of a Wild-bird 

By HlCDenslow 




Published for the First Time 






Copyrighted 1916 
By H. C. Denslow 



©GU428786 




OBBIE sidled 
along the branch 
to a spot where 
the first little 
ray came thro\ 
It was brighter 
there, almost light. He shook 
himself, his breast puffed, and 
the yellow bill dipped into the 
gray down of his under-feathers 
and, turning, plied in and out, 
up and down below the ruddy 
surface. Now and then he would 
examine a quill with special care, 
coddling it tenderly in his bill. 
Here and there he would train a 
downy shaft out to its veined tip; 
and, occasionally, all the feathers 
of his fluffy breast would rise 
gently, and slowly fall. Within 
was health; at one hundred and 
four degrees the tiny furnace of 



bird-life glowed; without, all 
round about the red breast and 
dusky back, dark hemlock nee- 
dles rustled swish, swish, in the 
keen air of earliest dawn. 

Bobbie was home again; he had 
come last evening; folded and 
tucked away were the air-fans, 
and the little dynamo which ran 
the air-ship on the long migra- 
tion flight this morning gave the 
softest current of home love. 
The sun had gotten up; Bobbie 
craned his neck out as far as he 
could and looked about. Below 
lay the apple orchard of thirty 
trees, beyond was the long down- 
ward slant of open ground, the 
car-line and the hill. Woody Crest. 
Close by rose the white pillars of 
the old homestead with its broad, 
flat roof; and back of the home- 



stead stretched a tiny wooded 
ridge. Upon a ledge of the middle 
pillar near the top were the rem- 
nants of a robin's nest of last year. 
Bobbie had had the feeling 
while journeying toward his old 
home that he would have pleas- 
ant meetings with those he loved ; 
but gradually as he looked about 
the feeling lessened; old scenes 
became old memories. Below 
him was the garden line, and, as 
he saw the drooping tangled 
grapevines, a feeling of terror 
swept over him that was almost 
sickening — a picture of last sum- 
mer, the claws of a cat, jaws and 
fangs, and the green-gray eyes. 
He piped excitedly; he would 
leave the spot and never return 
to it again. Just then a window 
opened, and a lovely face appear- 



ed, a tiny night-gowned form he 
knew. The little one peered 
all about and withdrew. "Oh! 
Grandma, I heard a robin! I 
heard a robin! I know I did'*; 
and out came the head of tangled 
yellow hair, the pale little face 
with great blue eyes wide open, 
that a minute before had been 
nestled asleep in bed. The happy 
look faded slowly, and the slender 
arms drew down the sash. She 
did not see him, but Bobbie felt 
happy and at home again. He 
shook himself, let his feathers 
rise and fall a few times, and felt 
content. Like all American robins 
he was deliberate, never effusive, 
but meditative, courageous, and 
above all a home lover. With a 
clear tweet, tweet, tut-tut-tut, 
he left his place in the hemlock 



close to the great piazza, and flew 
to the orchard. The ground 
was frozen; the Juncos, Downy 
Woodpeckers, and Kinglets had 
gleaned the last bit of insect food 
ere winter was past. What was 
left for the spring robin? He 
posed before a little frozen apple 
hanging by a big branch, and 
gave a fistic lunge that made it 
bob like a tiny sand-bag. Another 
lunge, it fell to the ground. He 
followed and paused, pecked and 
paused, till a way was made clear 
to the core, and Bobbie gobbled 
the seeds. So he got breakfast, 
and no morning was too dark and 
cold; sometimes it was dry ber- 
ries, sometimes frozen berries; 
and so a week passed quietly. 

One afternoon at four o'clock 
the sun dashed out. Hurrah! 



spring had come. Bobbie was on 
hand to welcome it. He tossed 
back his head and improvised. 
As with all robins, whenever his 
song rang out, it was new. This 
was Bobbie's latest impromptu: 



j) r fi r ^r f r I 



Oh the spring, you and me, by the spring. 



f) "C ^"f. 7 ^t^^t 7>f ^> f 



In the grove, shady grove, sha4y' growt, 



I I 'I f r f O'i H f"r^ 



Where the wee CMrUn§ fronds of the fern, come up, come up,i 



§ 'I t^^ 'I I '^ tl I 



Nean$ grov cold. hearts grow cold. tut, tut* 

He paused as though he would 
never sing another note, but his 
throat began to puff and gurgle; 
sing he could, if he must, and 

la 



again, from the tipmost branch 
of the bare swaying tree-top, he 
threw into the wide air his soul 
of melody: 






J^T S.\I 



Whirl ^.MSiy, whirl avay 

nn ft ' ' 



merrily, 



joerrlly, 



wnt, I f I r ' "f ^^ 



i 



Chipper up, chipper -Up, 

« 



vrhe - eu, whe - eu, 



m 



w^ 



t^ 



This is tint, take a ride, take a rid«. Gee whoa-up 



He stopped sharply, no wonder: 
Out upon the porch of the old 
mansion a little figure dashed, a 
little girl fairly ecstatic with glee. 
"There he is. Grandma! There 
he is! I knew he had come. I 
see the little white feather in his 
wing. It's Bobbie! It's Bobbie!" 



11 



He continued his song from the 
tree-top while the little form 
disappeared, appeared and dis- 
appeared; but two blue eyes, half 
screened by the lace curtains, 
peeped out upon the porch. 

The robin is a wealthy bird, 
because, while a hard worker, he 
is never in a hurry to seize upon 
the fruits of his toil. Bobbie tip- 
ped his head awhile and conclud- 
ed to descend to a low branch; 
there he looked at the porch and 
at the blue eyes and at the porch. 
With another swoop he was down 
with his head knowingly tilted 
over a dainty dish of Malaga 
grapes. They were fine, they 
were lovely; he knew who had 
put them there, he knew what 
for; he took one. But to eat it 
there was not in accord with 

12 



robin manners, so he flitted with 
it back to the branch, then to 
the top of the porch, where he 
beat off the skin and swallowed 
the sweet and pulpy morsel. 

After that, on a little stand on 
the great piazza, all summer long 
was set for him an offering of 
fruit. He seldom partook of it, 
but the feeling that it was there 
for him cheered his little spirit 
beyond measure. That was real 
wealth, and his voice rang out till 
people on the distant thorough- 
fare and even autos were some- 
times stopped to listen; and the 
great people of the great city 
came to say, — *'Just a little way 
out Jerome Avenue one can hear 
exquisite wild-bird songs." 

Many robins had passed over- 
head, but Bobbie saw no one he 

13 



knew, and he realized that he was 
the only one who had lived to 
return to the old home. As he 
watched the slick, stealthy form 
which haunted his little Eden, 
his feelings ripened into memory. 
He knew those green-grey eyes, 
they had lain in wait for his 
brothers and sisters; and, one by 
one, after they had left the nest 
and were just learning to fly, 
they had gone with those green 
eyes forever. Save for the slender 
white arms and golden hair he 
too would have gone. The white 
arms put him in a cage, and his 
mother came and fed him till he 
could fly. All was plain to him 
now; but those slender arms 
stroked and petted the stealthy 
form, and the blue eyes loved the 
green eyes. What could he do? 

14 



He loved the blue eyes and loved 
to sing to them. But he was 
strong now, master of the earth 
and of the air; he had traveled 
far. What cared he for the green 
eyes and stealthy form? 

Tiny leaves shooting out of 
everything! Spring was there, 
and the cherry tree was robed in 
white like his Blue Eyes. Bobbie 
learned wonderful notes of melo- 
dy from all sides, — even the mel- 
low trill of the toads down in the 
old marsh, which rose to him as 
twilight faded, sank deep into 
his memory. He heard other 
birds sing, he heard the tinkle 
and call, the subdued din of far- 
off traffic, the sounds of bands 
and church bells. Then he gave 
out in echo his song. One day, 
as he was pouring melody from 



15 



the tree-top, he felt other eyes 
watching him, not Blue Eyes, 
nor people that were passing, 
but two brown eyes close by, 
below, among the leaves, — a 
timidly shrinking, plain little 
graceful form which eluded him 
if he advanced, but came near him 
and listened when he sang. He 
lowered his voice for her, and the 
notes rose and fell in softest lisp- 
ing trills, like selections from the 
sweetest cricket music. He posed 
and flitted, the white edges of 
his tail flashing; then posed 
and flitted again strutting little 
flights from tree to tree of the 
old orchard. Their approach was 
gradual and formal, each motion 
was born of a thought, a second's 
deliberation; there were one or 
two feints of war, and robins are 

16 



sturdy fighters; she had rights, 
he had rights; but as they met 
day after day they liked each 
other and came closer together. 
Skill, grace, and industry were in 
their little heads, and they were 
busy. But, as for all who have felt 
Love's tiny arrow, so for this lit- 
tle couple, there were some wild 
ecstacies, sweet, dainty revels and 
caresses. Such sturdy thoughts 
of nest-building! They carried 
mud and grass with them often, 
it helped them to picture what 
a good place was; and by turns 
they would cuddle in a likely 
fork; in such a cunning, earnest 
way, she would try sitting this 
way and then that way, she 
would shuffle and cuddle and 
look far out and down as though 
a nest were about her. She would 

17 



paste the little wad of mud and 
grass first down low, then up 
high; an addition of a leaf stem 
helped much in designing; the 
finished nest was hard to imagine. 

Little Blue Eyes became ac- 
quained with Bobbie's betrothed, 
his wedded wife, at the fruit 
stand, and called her pretty 
Robertina. ''Forsaking all others 
cleave only unto her", reads the 
robin creed. Bobbie couldn't 
read, but he knew it all by heart. 

One nest half finished they 
deserted. Then Robertina, to 
Bobbie's delight, chose the old 
pillar ledge, and he brought mud- 
dy little pies and plastered till 
his throat was muddy, his breast 
was muddy, his feet were muddy; 
but the foundation was firmly 
laid on the shelf of the old pillar. 



18 



Robertina had been fluttering 
nervously for some time, but 
Bobbie must go to the housetop 
and proclaim in clarion tones 
that the cornerstone was laid, 
ere he was ready for the bath. 
Then away they went together, 
side by side, over the low flat, 
over the hills of Woody Crest, 
oh, so high! Beneath, the great 
metropolis spread like a rich 
carpet. On they sped in their 
air- ships over the Hudson to the 
Palisades; there, of a thousand 
pretty nooks they knew, was 
their favorite. Deep in among 
the leafy bushes was a flat rock. 
Upon it, from a niche in a stony 
ledge, water trickled. Here was 
their bathroom. A little patch 
of deep blue overhead crossed by 
bars of sunshine was the ceiling. 



19 



sassafras leaves made the wall 
paper design, lichened rock and 
pebbles lined the bathtub. This 
place was good enough, they 
thought, and here they bathed. 
So the new couple learned to 
love each other's ways. Day by 
day the nest-building progressed. 
The full flush of spring was on, 
and, as they went to sleep in the 
old hemlock, they would some- 
times see the beautiful pale green 
Luna moth; or a Secropia with 
his big dark wings would flap by 
and bat them with the feathery 
touch of a fairy. There were soft 
buzzings and swift flittings, my- 
riads of lovely butterflies of twi- 
light, and the first tree crickets 
softly drummed their seven- 
stroke. With heads tucked 
snugly in over their wings, tired 

20 



of sturdy works, they slept. 
In one respect Bobbie was an 
exception to the other birds 
about; English Sparrows might 
hector the Flicker, pommel the 
Wren and Bluebirds from their 
very homes, even pounce upon 
the backs of sitting Robins. 
They all found their match in 
Bobbie. Let them try to destroy 
his nest, or hang about to pester 
Robertina, they were always 
sorry; at just the right moment 
he would make a dash, and woe 
betide the scavenger-fed rascals 
if fair warning went unheeded, 
as it always did; he fanned the 
dust out of their little jackets so 
clean it took a week in the middle 
of the road to make them com- 
fortably dirty, conceited, and 
meddlesome again. 

21 



Now that the nest was com- 
pleted and his lady wished to stay 
at home, Bobbie had nothing to 
do but to sing and wait and 
watch Blue Eyes. He went to 
look in the bushes and clump of 
young trees at the other side of 
the house where, between straws, 
he had seen the golden head 
bobbing about. There he found 
her bending low beside a Chinese 
pussy willow, which had been set 
out close by the spring in honor 
of her birthday. The little hands 
were smoothing and patting the 
soft ground over the roots. Blue 
Eyes did not see Bobbie, and he 
sat preening and pluming just 
overhead. She kissed the little 
tree, and knelt beside it, and 
prayed for it to grow so pretty 
birds would sing in the branches. 

22 



Bobbie found her there so many 
times that the little tree, the 
blue eyes, and the stealthy form 
were connected in his mind. 

Almost every morning Bobbie 
or his mate visited the fruit 
stand. Such strange fruits, such 
lucious berries! such delighted 
blue eyes peeped at them! Were 
ever two birds so happy ? And oh, 
the nest on the pillar! Everyone 
knows how robins' eggs look, but 
Bobbie didn't, nor did Robertina. 
Six robin's eggs! Who ever heard 
of such a thing ? Every boy knows 
a bird can count, for if one egg is 
taken from the nest, often they 
will leave it. So Bobbie knew the 
number of eggs in the nest, and 
love straightway set ablaze the 
slow but steady fire of paternal 
ambition within him. 

23 



In fourteen days what would be 
in the nest on the pillar ledge? 

Bobbie sat on the edge of the 
roof thinking out a paternal 
lullaby, when from away off in a 
distant yard came the piping 
robin note, so different from the 
note of any other bird. It said, 
''Help! help!" and the neigh- 
borly instinct common to all 
birds carried Bobbie there at 
once. His quick ear caught the 
sound of baby-bird voices near 
the steps where a cherry tree 
grew. Winding slowly through 
the tall grass toward the door- 
yard, was Stealthy Form. The 
old robins had seen her com- 
ing, and gone to meet her. 
Bobbie and they had had many 
tiffs, but they were neighbors, 
and all that was forgotten now. 

24 



Other birds came. The call of 
the baby voices was hushed by 
the mother-note sounding loud 
as Kitty approached, strolling 
and winding about, and each 
time she turned toward the little 
one the mother piped louder; so 
to Kitty it was a simple game of 
''hot or cold," and the troubled 
mother note was guiding her. 
Bobbie did not know what to do, 
so he hopped about overhead, 
nervous and sympathetic; as 
Kitty neared the porch, the 
mother-bird lit down on the 
steps, panting, and nearly fran- 
tic, her wings drooping; "Help, 
help!" she called, and then there 
came the shrill, frightened call 
of the little one in the grass. 
Trembling with anxiety Bobbie 
joined those two old birds who 

25 



followed, swooping and pecking, 
with raised crests and eyes al- 
most starting from their sockets, 
risking their lives attacking, 
pursuing, till Kitty disappeared 
under the barn. A vain struggle 
to save the little ounce of flesh 
which meant so much to them. 
The next day the same thing 
happened, and the next day. 
The four little ones who had 
hatched in that dooryard were 
eaten. Each time Bobbie had 
tried to help, and each time as he 
returned to his own little ones 
he had a vague feeling that drove 
the song from his heart. Twice 
some one near the door had 
looked out and, on seeing the 
commotion among the birds, had 
said, "How cheerful and happy 
the birds sing." 

26 



But Blue Eyes knew the bird 
language, and though she did 
not see the tragedies in the 
adjoining dooryard, she knew 
Kitty's great fault — she remem- 
bered last summer; and when 
she saw the little bills pointing 
out over the edge of Bobbie's 
nest, she watched oh! so closely; 
she told Kitty she would put her 
in a box with slats in front for a 
whole week, but she only watched 
and fed her plenty of fresh meat 
m and kept her in at night. And so 
the greatest danger to Bobbie's 
little flock was averted. 

Within the next two days — 
just twelve days from eggshell 
birthday — each little one closely 
watched by Bobbie and Robertina 
had made its debut, a fluttering 
tumble to mother earth. Their 

27 



little ventriloquistic voices soun- 
ded first from one spot, then 
another, till it seemed to Blue 
Eyes that the grass was full of 
them. Bobbie worked like a 
Trojan. Worms were plenty; 
grasshoppers, katy - dids, and 
crickets were sometimes on the 
bill of fare; but he could not 
bring them fast enough, and, 
till he had waited and heard the 
little hungry voice, he never was 
quite sure where to find each 
ugly precious baby wanderer. 
For a long time he had only sung 
a song or two at sundown; now 
he was too busy, and happy, and 
tired, to sing at all. Day by day, 
in their efforts to follow their 
parents, the little ones learned 
to climb; and then, with great 
flutterings and bumpings like 

28 



June-bugs, they learned to fly. 
From tagging along after Bobbie 
as he hunted food for them, they 
hit upon the knack of seeing 
things — they found out what to 
eat. 

Usually robins raise two broods 
in a season, but this little cou- 
ple felt they had a big family and 
were content, for the autumn 
days were not so very far away. 
In the hot July afternoons, the 
happy flock would gather in the 
shade of the bushes down by the 
spring near the willow tree, and 
the little ones would sit in a row 
and preen and puff their pretty 
spotted breasts. Bobbie's coat 
was now quite worn and faded, 
and Robertina noticed that 
breaks in the web of her clothing 
had occurred in many places. 

29 



Not one of the little ones but 
could stand on either leg and 
scratch the other ear, — certainly 
they were smart for their age. 
And what a relief it was that they 
could roost above the reach of 
cats; for, while the brood was 
scattered upon the ground, 
Bobbie had passed almost sleep- 
less nights watching till it was 
too dark to watch and then 
listening. He could have done 
nothing in the darkness, but he 
could not keep from worrying. 

One sultry afternoon, Bobbie 
spread his wings in the hemlock 
and threw himself lazily forward ; 
a swish, swish, swish, of air 
through his broad flight-feathers 
brought him to the fruit stand. 
The fruit was not fresh. He 
turned one eye to the ceiling and 



thought. He had not seen Blue 
Eyes for ever so long, it seemed 
to him a summer-time; but on 
the end of the porch Stealthy 
Form sprawled asleep. Bobbie 
went at the apple; the pieces of 
brown rotted pulp flew right and 
left till in the big hollow where he 
had feasted several times before 
was a fresh white spot. Bobbie 
reached in for a seed. The green 
eyes opened, the Stealthy Form 
rolled forward as a snake uncoils, 
hidden claws gave impetus, and 
Kitty, like the spirit of some 
by-gone tiger, was upon him with 
paws widespread ere he saw her. 
Then came her grasp— and his 
rebuff — her second grasp as she 
caught the stand with one paw 
— her spring like lightning from 
the stand high into the air,— 

31 



but Bobbie was quicker than 
lightning. 

Bobbie did not visit the stand 
again; Robertina had discovered 
fresh fruit at the upper window 
toward the spring where Bobbie 
had first awakened Blue Eyes. 
There he saw her lying now in her 
own little bed, so pale and wan 
that the affectionate, disheveled 
robin, craning his neck timidly 
from the fruit dish on the sill, 
could hardly believe himself; but 
his brown eyes spoke volumes. 
He looked and listened with a 
wondering hopefulness and con- 
fidence. He came every day 
through those autumn days. He 
ate little, but peered and, quiver- 
ing, listened. And Blue Eyes 
talked to him ; she told him of her 
tree and asked him to sing to it 



for her while she was sick. She 
explained to Bobbie what the 
doctors said, and asked him to 
tell the little tree that she was 
very sick and that was why she 
could not tend it. Bobbie looked 
and thought, and came again 
and again, and listened. Stealthy 
Form lay always at her feet fast 
asleep. 

The autumn days were there, 
and Bobbie sang every morning 
and evening near the window or 
on the edge of the great flat roof. 
One day as he sat on a branch 
near the window singing, he saw 
some one near, a boy; he knew 
boys; different boys acted very 
differently; some were like men, 
some were like cats and dogs; 
he sang on. A tree was between 
him and the boy, and suddenly 



that face appeared beside the tree 
just below him, very near. Zip! 
Something clipped his side; he 
stopped singing, crouched in ter- 
ror, to fly; another second and 
something crashed into his side, 
— a stone from a sling-shot, that 
threw him over on the roof above. 
There he drew himself together 
and sat with clouded eyes and 
head bent. He saw nothing, and 
his breath came faster and faster 
till it came in great gulps and 
spasms that racked the little 
body; then grew less and less, 
more and more feeble, and finally 
he lay quite still; and evening 
came slowly down over the little 
soft heap. 

Robertina and her great flock, 
her sturdy family, had been off 
bathing and having great sport, 

34 



and, as was often the case, had 
been overtaken, outwitted by 
on-coming night; but they had 
often traveled late. They left 
the dark woods of the Palisades 
and rose higher and higher into 
the purple and green, till they 
were again in the bright sun- 
shine, which was reflected down 
below from little gold-lined wings 
plying in soft ripples in a sea of 
purple. The little flock sped 
home; slipped in among the soft 
hemlock boughs like bats, and 
soon were sound asleep. 

Beneath the roof all was bustle. 
Blue Eyes must go to Florida, the 
doctors had said so. The carriage 
was now at the door, but she 
begged for just a minute more 
and asked to be carried back into 
her room. Blue Eyes knelt alone 

35 



and asked God to be with Bobbie, 
for Bobbie would need Him to 
guide him on his way on the long 
migration. She prayed for the 
birds and for Stealthy Form and 
for the little tree; then called to 
Grandma and soon she was 
sound asleep in a berth near 
Grandma in the great sleeper 
that rocked gently as the train 
thundered and tore along thro* 
the night southward. Away high 
overhead in the night air were 
legions also moving southward. 
A low whistle would tell when 
they were Curlews, a tinkle 
would tell when they were Bobo- 
links, faint chip, chips, would 
say they were Song Sparrows and 
Field Sparrows; gutteral notes 
told of great water-birds; little 
wings and great wings beat the 



night air and through the dark- 
ness vied with the speed of the 
southbound train, on into the 
vastness and the silence. 

But Bobbie was not dead; in 
the keen crisp air of that grand 
autumn night, life slowly gather- 
ed him together. He was no 
longer dazed. He felt the spirit 
of autumn, and the finger of his 
guide pointed southward ; he felt 
that his wing was broken, that 
he would never fly again, and his 
head sank. 

With the glinting lights of 
morning rose a little chorus of 
warblings from the hemlock; it 
was Bobbie's children, led by 
Robertina's clear, delicate ring- 
ing trills, guiding the morning 
song. The full beat of the tree- 
crickets' measured trill had fal- 

37 



len to a soft listless breathing 
which slowly gathered strength 
as the day wore on. No one saw 
Bobbie, for a curl of the eave- 
spout hid him. He had no desire 
to move. He heard excited calls 
for him, a great bustle and piping 
all day long; but he was so weak, 
what was the use? He was of no 
further good to any one. He had 
heard the flocks passing day by 
day, — some jolly and loitering, 
some earnest and speeding; but 
all saying the same word, south- 
ward, southward. The storm will 
be here by tomorrow — they all 
said so ; and, late in the afternoon 
when many robins were passing, 
he heard his family hail them; 
he heard the greetings, heard 
them rising; Robertina's note 
was low and saddened, and she 

38 



remained and wheeled back and 
forth over the old homestead, 
piping; but at last she stopped 
calling for Bobbie and, rising, 
higher and higher, she followed 
the distant flock and was gone 
forever. 

Bobbie's spirit never rallied, — 
but he got a little stronger. 
There were plenty of insects on 
the roof wandering abroad those 
fine days, and among the heaps 
of fallen leaves in the rain gut- 
ters. He spent most of his time 
on the side where he could look 
down on Blue Eyes' little window. 
Several days dragged by. He must 
reach the window. So the little 
fluttering bunch went down, and 
pressing close to the pane, looked 
in again and again, — trying to see 
Blue Eyes. But the room was 



empty. From there Bobbie could 
see the little tree and by next day 
he concluded to reach it; so he 
dropped heavily again, and, after 
recovering, hopped slowly toward 
the spring. He sat by the little 
tree. He tried to reach the little 
branch low down, but fell back. 
The bright autumn sun streamed 
in through the gorgeous foliage. 
Great drowsy grasshoppers loafed 
about. A mourning cloak on a 
lopping fern leaf spread her gor- 
geous purple yellow - margined 
wings. The air was filled with 
floating spiders and clustering 
clouds of dancing gnats. Every- 
thing formed unconsciously a 
glorious wreath to the dying year, 
all but Bobbie. He had not even 
temporary joy or beauty; he felt 
his utter worthlessness, a great 

40 



loneliness enveloped him with 
the dying, and he hugged close 
to the little tree, — his torn wing 
hanging. A fern leaf moved, and 
green eyes looked fixedly at him; 
they made him think of Blue 
Eyes, and they meant death, but 
they had no longer any terrors; 
he tipped his head back as if 
again a song puffed and rippled 
in his throat; his head moved 
slowly forward, and he was still. 
A little later, when Kitty had 
gathered courage, she leaped 
upon him. But Bobbie was 
already gone. 

All winter long there was 
hardly a sound but distant cars, 
the coarse chirp, chirp, of some 
stray **hoodlum" Sparrow, or 
the lonesome swish of the hem- 
lock near the old mansion, for 

41 



the life of the house was gone. 
But with the last day of March 
came Blue Eyes, well and rosy; 
and, almost at the same time, 
six ruddy redbreasts sheltered 
in the old hemlock. 

For some time the weather was 
rainy, and Blue Eyes tended the 
fruit stand with watchful delight, 
always lool^ing for Bobbie. By 
and by the sky cleared, and the 
ground was dry and warm, and 
she ran down to say "How do do" 
to her little tree. It was dressed 
to meet her. On the long shoots 
of strong growth were clusters 
and yellow rows of furry nodding 
pussies, like big tortoise-shells, 
like grey pussies, like wee little 
malteese. Blue Eyes was in 
ecstacies; she stooped and kissed 
its little brown trunk, and there 

42 



on the ground lay a broken be- 
drabbled robin's wing; the white 
flight-feather told the story. It 
was Bobbie. It was all there was. 
Down beside the willow, crying 
and thinking of Bobbie, sobbing, 
Blue Eyes fell asleep. Two robins 
had been there to drink; but, 
spying the golden hair through 
the yellow pussies, went quietly 
back. Now another pair came, 
but gently stole away. Many 
birds were coming to alight in 
the little tree to hop down to 
drink, and they grew trustful of 
the form low down beside its 
roots. They hopped upon the 
ground round about her, and 
peeped at her, one robin was so 
confident that he came up, 
cocked his head on one side, and 
pretended he saw angleworm 

43 



indications under the little shoe. 
They bathed with great sputter, 
flipping, and flutter, in the tiny 
stream which ran from the 
spring. When the tear-stained 
face lifted and the blue eyes 
opened, six robins overhead hop- 
ped about and peeped down at her 
wistfully and trustingly from 
among the nodding pussies in 
her tree. One of them broke out 
in song; there was the thrill of 
Bobbie again, wild, jubilant, and 
rampant, buoyant with melody. 
She felt content; she knew they 
were Bobbie's, and that in them 
his spirit lived again. 



44 



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